My grandpa, August “Izzie” Eisenbraun, passed away early Monday morning. He was 90 years old and in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s, so while it wasn’t completely unexpected, it is deeply saddening nonetheless. He always said he would live to be 100, and I think I believed him, or at least wanted to. But when someone no longer recognizes his own spouse of 68 years, you can’t help but think he is in a better place and that his spirit must be relieved to be freed from his ailing body.

His obituary in the Sioux Falls Argus Leader was pretty straightforward, mentioning his work as a teacher and as a lumber company manager, but it’s hard to convey his personality on a piece of paper. To know him was to love him. I think one of the greatest testaments to his character is the fact that my 12-year-old niece, who only met him a handful of times, is refusing to miss the funeral. He made such an impression on her; she greatly admired him and loved going to visit him. He and my grandmother have both always been the kind of people who welcome you with open arms; my sister-in-law said they made her feel like she had always been a part of the family, and they treated my mother like their own daughter, even after my parents were divorced. Grandpa loved his family, his garden, fishing, and camping. Up until his later years, he owned motor boats, campers, and RVs; going to visit them in South Dakota was always an adventure. We would eat fish that we had caught ourselves, vegetables from his expansive garden, and homemade jam from their fruit trees. He loved to build things and even made his own wine and root beer.

When I think of Grandpa, I picture him in his favorite chair in their living room, telling stories and cracking jokes. He was always laughing. Sometimes he would pretend to be serious and say something in a stern voice with a straight face, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away, and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face for long. He would tell stories about pets they used to have, a parakeet named Little Joe and a dog named Bingo, and he would laugh every time as if they were the funniest stories he had ever heard. For my brother’s wedding, he wrapped a home-grown zucchini in a fancy box and laughed about it for years. I’m sure when he was younger he must have had a reputation as a prankster, and there must be dozens of stories I never even heard.

My grandparents’ relationship was an inspiration to me. They laughed together every day and always kept a positive outlook on life, even throughout the tribulations that come from more than 65 years together. Through cancer and Alzheimer’s, they gave each other strength.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You will be missed, but you will always live in our hearts.